The Master's Sun
by Swamy
Summary: She hurts when ghosts find her, but Damon finds her too. [Loosely based of the k-drama of the same name]
1. Chapter 1

**Note:** This story is loosely based on the korean drama of the same name. I know the beginning is slow, but I hope you will like it (and that I can make it better with time).

#

"Not now!" the angry hissing of Bonnie's voice reaches him from the inside of the room, under his light knocking, and the sound interrupts him. He turns the doorknob and enters before she can even answer and give him permission to, half believing he would find her with another boy.

Bonnie turns her head to look at him and smile over her shoulder, as she puts her cellphone and her notebook inside the leather backpack. She's clearly alone and he feels a bit guilty for the rush of jealousy that made him ignore good manners for a moment, still one little doubt remains nestled in the back of his mind.

"I'm almost ready," she informs him, before retouching her lipstick. He walks behind her to hug her and looks at her through the mirror. She barely flinches in his hold and avoids his eyes as she wears her new earrings.

"Everything's okay?" he asks, getting an "Mmm-mmm" and a nod.

"I have an important test this morning and I'm a bit nervous," she explains with half a smile.

"About what?" he asks, his expression confused like he can't possibly understand her doubts. "You're going to ace it," he adds with a smile. Bonnie smiles back and bends her arm to pat his shoulder with her hand, "Thanks," before untangling herself from him, relieved to be a better liar that she gave herself credit for.

"I'm really in a hurry," she adds apologetically, opening the door.

"I could walk you to class," he suggests, following her out.

It is a sunny day, Bonnie feels herself relaxing under the warm light. Everyone around is wearing sleeveless shirts and tops, she would have liked to sport her new purchase appropriately but she can't – she was so enthusiastic about it, she had been waiting for it to be on sale because the full price was a bit too high for a college student but in the end she had managed to buy it. It was the last one, a beautiful lace top in amaranth, that shows her toned stomach and has a vertical cut on the back revealing the thinnest triangle of skin.

Only, she can't show any skin. She must wear a shawl over any t-shirt and be careful with applying her make up, so that she can hide away her secret. Maybe if she hides it really well, she can forget it herself.

In the attempt to go unnoticed she started wearing plain clothes, shirts with hoods, hats, hiding herself, even stopping feelings of shame about it, because you can't waste energy on shame when you need it all in order to survive.

"Yeah, that would be nice," she tells Jeremy, trying to not sound as hesitant as she feels. During the day, in big crowds, it seems like her secret might be losing her for a while.

She walks with him hand in hand, amazed that he can't tell from her hard grip how terrorized she feels, relived that she can get away with it. He talks about a romantic date and she nods her consent as she looks over his shoulder to make sure no spirit has spotted her.

Her absent eyes can't catch a thing. She's in the middle of a crowded campus with someone she trusts herself with, and yet she can feel destiny closing in on her.

"Isn't it great?" he asks calling on her attention, "No supernatural drama, just you and me."

Bonnie blinks, looking up at him. Guilt pools at the mouth of her stomach and her hand loses its grip by reflex.

"Now we can finally be together without anyone running to you to save the day. I won't find strange herbs and suspiciously colored liquids in your fridge. No more flickering lights or burning furniture," he says, "I think I'm discovering the beauty of _normal_ and _boring."_

Bonnie knows that no matter how she longs for a safe place to hide, for a breathing space, she can never tell him the truth without taking away the chance at normalcy and happiness he deserves. And she never will.

#

She's brushing her hair when Elena enters their dorm room and lets herself fall on the bed with a suffocated moan. Bonnie turns around to look at her with an indulgent gaze; her relationship with Damon ended just a few days ago and she's entitled to some mourning and self-centeredness.

She abandons her hairbrush on the dresser and walks to her bed, to sit next to her and brush her hair from her forehead with her fingers.

"Hey, are you alright?" she asks with a soft tone. Sometimes, when she feels her heart battered and bruised, she hopes for a soft voice, a voice that will not hit her heart more, so she thinks of Elena's heart, and hopes to give it some relief.

"What if I say I'm not alright at all?" Elena asks with her pretty, sad eyes.

"I won't tell if you won't," Bonnie answers in a conspiratorial tone and her friend finally smiles at her, sitting up on the bed to hug her tight. Bonnie swallows a moan of pain, feels her eyes watering up but she keeps herself together, stops breathing and tries to distance herself from her sore body.

"Caroline would not like to know that I'm missing him," Elena says, pulling back. Bonnie smiles in relief, and nods.

"I know," she admits, "But she's only trying to protect you."

Elena's features soften as she notices Bonnie's glossy eyes, "I can always count on you, can't I?" she asks, "You always share my hurt."

Bonnie feels guilty for allowing her to mistake her physical pain with a kind of emotional involvement in her break up she's not able to feel now, but she can't really explain her what she's going through. It's something she must do on her own, something she can actually do on her own. Find a balance, dig down into her soul and drag out the necessary strength to face this. And if Elena can feel loved because she's actually been about to pass out from pain just thirty seconds ago, why deny her?

Her friends already have their fair share of tragedy to face, and it's not like they could anything for her, so there's no reason to haul them down with her.

"Are you getting ready for a date with my brother?"

"Yes," Bonnie answers, putting a strand of hair behind her ear, "We're going to have dinner together."

"You're lucky," the other girl says, "I envy you a bit," she admits with a sigh. Elena has never stayed single for more than two weeks since her first boyfriend, and her break up with Damon has taken away a certainty. She was not ready for this, for his sudden surge of selflessness, for a lonely awakening, for the moment when she's the one staying in, instead of Bonnie.

Bonnie understands this enough that she says nothing. Even when she covers a bruise on her cleavage or wears a long sleeve shirt in the warm weather while everyone ignores her pain she doesn't feel lucky or enviable at all.

#

She eats slowly, plays with the food on her plate, tries to concentrate on the sound of Jeremy's voice telling her about something he did with Matt that afternoon. She's grateful for the distraction, grateful that all she's got to do is smile and nod her way into the conversation.

She's too tired to do anything else.

"How did your test go?"

Bonnie blinks, asks a "What?" by reflex and then remembers the poor excuse she used with him that morning.

"Oh, right. I suppose I wasn't too bad, but I won't know until next week," she explains, hoping she didn't give away too many details about a lie she will have to keep standing for at least seven days.

She smiles, breathes in slowly to not rouse the pain that just calmed down and chew on her Buffalo chicken, carefully removing the cheddar; she forgot to tell the waiter that she didn't want it, and it seemed rude to ask to have her dish changed when it's her own mistake.

"What do you say about a dance?" he asks, making her raise her head.

Her first instinct is to say yes, she feels like being held, _comforted_, even if she must steal that comfort away because he doesn't know her need for it, but she only manages to gasp before realizing she can't really accept.

"I'm just so tired, Jer," she says, smiling apologetically.

"I promise I won't throw you in the air," he jokes, making her uncertain. She's tempted to accept but her body begs to be left alone and she cannot ignore it.

"Thanks, but I really don't feel like it. Next time we'll dance the night away," she proposes, trying to lighten the mood, "Okay?"

"Sure."

She knows it's primarily her fault if the night is not going the way it should have, but he's so happy to have her back, so happy to have a very normal relationship, with a very normal person that doesn't channel dead witches' powers for a hobby, and she can't really tell him she exchanged that for being a revolving door for ghosts.

She leans into him when he walks her back to the dorm, holding his arm with both hands so that he will not put it around her waist.

"I'm sorry I was such bad company tonight," she says, keeping in step with him. The moon's soft glow doesn't hurt her eyes and she looks up, as they speak.

"You're so beautiful I'll let it pass this time," he tells her, making her smile. Looking at him she can read a spark of desire so she shifts her gaze, faking unawareness and this is how she sees him.

He's walking in her direction, his eyes straight into hers making her heart beat wildly in her chest. She shakes her head ever so lightly, so that Jeremy won't notice, looks down watching her feet stepping on the concrete and hopes to get to her door soon.

She actually leans against it, wrapping her hands around Jeremy's, which are placed on her waist. If he presses just a bit more, she's going to scream out in pain in his face and every effort will be wasted, so she tries her best to take his hands off her without hurting his feelings. She kisses his mouth, tries to sound dreamy and tired when she thanks him.

"What if I stay over for a bit?" he asks.

"I don't think that's a good idea," she answers, her heart sinking as she realizes the route the conversation is about to take.

"I know you're tired, but I could just hold you…"

_And that's actually the problem,_ she thinks.

"You know we wouldn't just hold each other and sleep."

"And what's so bad about that?" he presses.

"I've got class in the morning," she justifies herself, "And I don't want to be caught in the act by my boyfriend's sister".

He ignores her reference to Elena, set on finding a reason she cannot give him.

"I've checked your schedule and I'm pretty sure you're free 'til noon," he says, confused, puzzled.

"I'm just so tired, you know," she says weakly, shrugging, hoping to look adorable enough that he'll do what she wants him to, even if the distance is only growing and that's because of her.

Over his shoulder her new visitor is looking at her with a blank, unforgiving expression. She's pretty sure the visit he's paying her was as unexpected for her as it was for him, and he's losing his patience. Who knows, probably he never had it to start with.

"Is that all?" he asks, voice tense, almost cutting.

"Of course, I'm just-"

"There's someone else?" he bursts, like the words had been pressing at his skull for long before he actually allowed them to come out.

"I know college is all about having new experiences and enjoying life but-"

"You really think I would do that to you?" she asks incredulous. He should know her better, she died for him, she put her life on the line for each one of their friends, actually sacrificed everything she had for a destiny that was not written for her - because she's got no fated soul mate to await her, nor is she meant to hunt down any supernatural creature – and he thinks that she could actually betray him in such a low way.

"I heard you talking with someone this morning," he says, waiting for her to give him an explanation that will put his doubts to rest.

"What?" she asks, trying fast to understand what he's talking about.

"Were you on the phone with someone?"

This morning, she realizes, a ghost showed up in her room when he was knocking on the door and he must have heard her talking to him. He had later followed her to class, inside the girl's room and he had gone through her to reach the other side. She can't really tell Jeremy that.

"They called the wrong number."

"You're lying to me," he accuses her with a sad voice, making her feel guilty for a betrayal she never did.

"You have to trust me," she pleads, panicking because the ghost is getting closer and Jeremy is growing distant, and she's too tired to do anything at all.

"I want to, but you're distant, and distracted-" He stops, looks away and takes a step back. "Let's talk another time, you're tired."

She can read it in his eyes that he wants her to hold on to him, tell him to not go, but she can't.

During the night, somewhere in New Orleans, the Mikaelson brothers had cleaned up the space, and the dirt had went to her. After the second ghost that crossed to the other side, her ribs had started to hurt. After the fourth crossing she was so tired she fell asleep on the floor of the common restroom – so Elena and Caroline wouldn't hear - reclined against the wall, but they had kept bothering her, making things fall and slam so that she would be conscious for them to use her.

Now, to conclude a wonderful day, she must watch Jeremy's back as he abandons her on the door with an irritated ghost.

Bonnie shakes her head, slips inside her room and jumps back when she finds him staring at her once she's turned on the lights.

"I must cross to the other side," he informs her, studying the barely controlled reaction on her face. He can see she's trying to make a brave face in front of the situation, which makes it all the more entertaining for him.

"I know."

"You're the Bennett witch," he says, sounding way too pleased for a recently passed away vampire.

"Not anymore," she answers after a moment of confusion. She bets he's not just trying to make conversation.

"You killed a friend of mine," he informs her. The air is chilly and it gets colder still when he takes a step towards her, looking at her like he's actually still capable of biting into her flesh.

"If I did, it wasn't for the fun of it," she says, hoping it will be enough to convince him to leave by hook rather than by crook.

"That's the difference between us," he explains her, showing a sinister smile, "I'm going to take the scenic route," he whispers, "I'm gonna enjoy this, what about you? Will you?" before touching the middle of her chest with his fingertip.

It is strange, because she's a human being, a person, yet suddenly she's nothing more than a piece of paper he slowly shreds in two.

#

Bonnie leaves a message on his answering service before she can even get out of bed. She has no strength to, anyway. She tells him she's sorry, she tells him she knows it's her fault if their night was ruined, an] she tells him she loves him. Every scattered word rings useless and silly, like she can't even find them in the first place. She can barely think of anything but how much her muscles ache, maybe he will think her insincere and she can't really blame him.

When she takes off her pajamas, she notices a stain of blood on the shirt. Watching herself in the mirror she can see her scraped skin, a one-inch cut right next her left breast. She sighs thinking that she's lucky Elena and Caroline had to leave for class before she has to, because otherwise they might be able to smell the blood on her, and she's piling up lie on lie to the point she herself has lost track of it.

The only chance she's got to have a chance to work this out is to apply for a single room. She had been looking forward to sharing her space with her two best friends, but she needs some quiet.

Bonnie sits on the edge of the bed while cleaning the cuts, pats on the skin with gentleness to not awake the pain in her body. It takes her awhile to get cleaned and dressed. Her makeup helps in concealing the rough night she just endured, and this is the only way she has to fix her look, considering her new, not improved fashion choices.

Outside her door the world is awake and busy by now. There are two guys playing Frisbee, and the usual girl that moves from class to class on her rollerblades. She barely notices them, too distracted by her own problems to stop and envy those who cannot understand.

The day isn't as warm as the one before, and bearing her long sleeves is easier. She checks her notes, trying to make sense of them but she can barely remember her professor's face, like her brain is actually occluded. Flashes of images come back to her mind, slowing down her step she realizes she's picking apart the memory her last visitor left in her body when he passed through her. He liked to engage in torture, stitching his victim's lips together before cutting through them.

The shiver that hits her body is violent and she can feel goose bumps on her skin. Shaking her head she tries to chase away those images from her eyes, and then she sees her. A new visitor that gazes at her from her peripheral vision, and she walks faster, without bothering to watch ahead, turning her head to her to keep the ghost in sight like it can help her avoiding a public crossing and the shame that will surely follow.

The old woman looks at her through her white pupils and Bonnie understand she must have been blind before her passing, somehow a voice inside her head wonders if she's going to be clumsy with her crossing, if she's going to drag it to the point she'll feel her flesh tear apart again, and as she sees her walking in her direction she doesn't notice the chest she runs into, as the mocking voice greets her with a "Hello, sunshine."

The hit is not hard but on her battered body feels like a frontal car crash. Her vision blurs, her knees go weak and the ghost disappears in front of her eyes. Two strong hands grip her around her waist to put her back on her feet and she whines in the back of her throat as she raises her eyes to meet his.

"What's wrong with you?"

The grimacing face and the ungentle voice send panic racing through her for a short moment, because she's been so good at avoiding people asking that question of her, and then Damon comes out of nowhere and ruins it all.

Even if he's not touching her anymore yet she thinks she's going to feel his hands on her bruised skin all day long.

"Nothing," she just answers, holding his gaze to show her usual confidence, "What are you doing here?"

"Judging the content of your wardrobe, at the moment," he says, scrutinizing her. Making her feel self-conscious again and she feels like hiding her head under her gray shirt.

"Aren't you hot?" the question is colored with sarcasm and he offers her an infuriating grin.

"Not really," she says, "You leave me cold," and his grin becomes a smile.

Bonnie supposes that it is not very polite to greet the one that brought her back from the dead this way but she couldn't seem to help it. His mocking, insolent attitude sparked her spirit for the fraction of a second, like the light of a matchstick. Not hot enough to melt the ice inside her bones, not bright enough to wipe the darkness surrounding her, but still a trace of her true self.

"Now, if you don't mind, and even if you do," she explains, "I've got to go to class."

"You're even less fun than I remembered," he protests, turning around to watch her leave as she walks past him.

She can feel his presence at her back, and is so distracted that she's startled when the ghost appears in front of her again. The surprise makes her jump back and crash, again, into Damon's chest. His arm closes around her to keep her still and the ghost blurs away like a cloud of vapor.

This time it's not the pain that make her moan in the back of her throat, it's the relief. Her eyes water up, a laugh surfaces on her lips unexpectedly and when she's on her two feet again she's lightheaded and delirious with something that looks dangerously close to hope.

"Bonnie?" She thinks it's the new realization that just hit her, rather than his voice saying her name, that shakes her this way, but even so, looking back at him, she feels breathless.

"Did you just take up a job as winter caretaker for a Hotel in the Colorado Mountains and forgot to tell me? Because I would have advised against it," he jokes trying to lighten the mood. She is no Shining but she doesn't look much like herself either.

"I'm fine," she protests. Right now she just wants to wrap her fingers around the fabric of his shirt and follow him wherever he goes hiding in his shadow, so maybe she's not _exactly_ fine. To fight this new urge she takes a step back, and then another, points her thumb over her shoulder and reminds him, "Gotta go now."

Damon just shrugs as she leaves, looking in the direction of the building where Elena has her last class that day. Maybe she won't let him speak, maybe she will look at him with relief and will hide her face in his chest before even saying hello.

He manages to take only one step in that direction before the buzz at his back makes him turn. At the end of the alley there's a little crowd bent over something, someone. He only catches the faded gray of the unflattering shirt, before running to her, pushing his way through the guys that block his path.

"Bonnie," he says, kneeling at her side to check her pulse. There's something wrong with her body temperature, her pulse is slow and she smells like disinfectant. He's surprised to notice it only now.

"Go away, the show is over," he almost shouts as he takes her up into his arms to walk her to the health center. "You're fine, right?" he murmurs sarcastically, even if she can't hear his question. He kicks the door open and the young doctor inside adjusts his glasses on his nose and spares him from a lecture on manners.

"Put her down," he tells him, taking the stethoscope from around his neck, "What happened?" he asks, as he checks her heartbeat.

"I don't know. She fainted."

It takes the young man a few seconds to realize he just felt her pulse above a fresh cut and he asks Damon to wait outside. He leaves with a certain reluctance, listening intently through the whole examination from outside to know what the doctor is doing, and if she's awake. He's sure she's not.

"What's wrong with her?" he asks when the man comes out of the room.

"Are you family?"

"No."

"Then I can't tell you," he says, shaking his head.

"She has no family, just a few friends. I suppose you can count me as one of them," he admits, against his better judgment, "So now you better tell me."

The young man, stares at him with suspicion from behind his glasses. His green eyes try to weigh his character with one look. Well, good luck with that.

Damon is about to take him by the white coat and slam him against a wall to be more persuasive when he tells him "She's clearly suffering from sleep deprivation. I would usually think it's just the stress of the new setting, but there are clear signs of abuse-"

"What?" the question bursts out of his mouth before he can even think. He can hardly process what the doctor just told him. "What does that mean?"

"She's covered in bruises, some are old, others are recent, and I found fresh cuts on her chest and stomach," he explains, "No one found it strange that she wore long sleeves in this kind of weather?" There's a hit of bitterness under the professional tone he's probably practices at behind closed doors to look more like a doctor instead of someone that just got his degree.

Damon has no answer to that question. It's the first time he's seen her since she came back to the land of the living.

"Does she have a boyfriend?"

"Why? Do you want to ask her out?" Damon replies, unreasonably angry, before calming himself down, "Yes, she does, but between the two I think he's more likely to be the one to take the beating." Still the doubt crosses his mind. What if Jeremy is violent? She would never out him. She would never risk ruining his relationship with Elena and putting another weight on her friend's shoulders.

"Well, someone has hurt her," he says, and Damon steals a glance over the doctor's shoulder to look at her body lying on the infirmary bed. "I have to report it."

"A complaint against an unknown person?" he asks. "She's not someone who does things when someone forces her to," he adds with a dark tone.

"I know her," he murmurs to himself. He knows her, and this is why he can't begin to understand how the strong girl he knows can be unconscious on that bed.


	2. Chapter 2

Her eyes move under her closed lids. Her exhausted body barely stirs on the single bed of the health center but the tension in her muscles is palpable, tying her down and subjecting her to the visions of the sadism in which her last visitor liked to revel. Bonnie does not make a sound as the squirts of blood start dripping down the wall painted with sea animals of the newborn child's room, but horror and disgust kicks her out of unconsciousness before she can see through his eyes what he did to the little body in the crib.

Her eyes are wide open and her heartbeat starts to slow down.

"And in the end, the sleeping beauty woke up," Damon says making her turn to him. Her pale face, as she searches for something to fix her sanity to before it can sink irremediably, makes him slightly irritated.

"Damon…" she brings her right hand to her forehead, instinctively. She feels like she could break her reason apart with a touch, so her fingertips barely brush the skin.

"What time is it?" she asks, trying to regain some control. "I need to go to class." She looks about herself, but still not making a move. She slept, maybe just a few minutes but she slept, and no ghost has played pranks on her, no one tried to use her, and until those images came to hunt her it's been so beautifully quiet inside of her.

"That's all?" he asks back, grimacing. "You wake up in a bed that's not your own, with me playing the reluctant guardian angel and all you ask is _what time is it_?"

He's got a point, she realizes, but what can she really tell him? She's trying to keep her life together, and if she confesses it all then it's done, every chance she ever had to live her life for herself is gone and she will just be the ghost's exit sign, the recycling bin of their conscience, the one to pity, and she can't face that. Moreover Damon is the last person she'd tell. He might have brought down hell to make her resuscitate, but they were more intimate when she was dead, all considered.

"Isn't this how college life is supposed to be?" she asks, trying to sound amused, "Waking up in a stranger's bed without knowing how you got there?"

The white and pale green of everything surrounding her and the aseptic smell do not leave many options outside of hospitals rooms and infirmaries.

From his face she can see he'd tempted to give in and believe her, but it doesn't last long. His blue eyes are as hard as stones and her first instinct is to keep the distance between them, yet she remembers clearly now, how that white eyed ghost disappeared when she touched him.

"Yeah, you, totally the promiscuous one," he says, sounding sarcastic.

It bothers her how he will not believe that of her, but just the day before she was angry at Jeremy for thinking the opposite. Being completely truthful, at least there is still a way to tell apart the girl she is from the girl this _curse_ is trying to make of her.

"Thanks," she says cheerfully, pushing her legs out of the bed to get up, "now if you'll excuse me."

"No, I don't think I will," he says, crossing his white, muscled arms on his chest, leaning back against the wall "unless you tell me you already got rid of the problem and just need help disposing of the body."

"Killing is not my hobby," she informs him.

"Right, that's mine," he says, snapping his fingers together like he just remembered. "Well, too bad," he adds, looking away from her. His jaw tight, his lips closed into a thing line. "The kid dressed as a doctor says you've been abused."

He spits the last word like he's insulting her. She doesn't know what he expects from this conversation or what would make it shorter.

Truth is that she never thought of it that way. She never thought of all the pain and the lies and the loneliness that way. Bonnie hopes that the surprise registering on her face can work in her favor.

"He's wrong," she says, trying to sound as firm as she can. Damon doesn't falter at her words, looking at her like he's studying every trait of her face.

"Is he?" he asks back, sounding blank and unimpressed, "So what? Did you bump into a shutter? A door? You're just clumsy, right? That's quite a classic," he adds, taking a step towards her and faking an amused tone.

"I really don't know what you're talking about and I don't care."

"Well, that makes two of us, then," he says, clearly annoyed, turning his back on her to walk to the door.

"You're not going to tell Elena, are you?" she's almost breathless at the mere idea. She can't really bear to think of what will happen then. She will be forced to think about how everyone else feels about this and will become a blur into her own consciousness.

"You think I won't?" he asks back, turning to her with a feline grace. Head cocked to the side and a horribly playful sneer on his pink lips, "But, why not?" he asks with a shrug.

He takes a step towards her, and then another, "The doctor is wrong after all, isn't he? Elena really needs a good laugh right now and this should be entertaining enough."

Bonnie turns her face when he leans into her, avoiding his eyes, but she never backs down, never lets him think he can actually scare her. So who is it that can reduce her to such condition? He can smell no hint of fear on her skin, just her usual scent of vanilla and bitter almonds, which linger on her like a warning that she can be lethal to one's system just by breathing her in once.

His instinct warns him to stay out of this, before she manages to push him into some other crazy mission, like she did when she brilliantly thought to go and die on them.

"It really doesn't concern me," he decides, as self-preservation kicks in, "I'll let your friends worry about this," he explains, like he's not one of them. He's not used to caring – not so much, not so often anyway - he tells himself, the effort could tear a muscle or something, it is better if he stays out of it.

He's fast in turning from her, relived that he can shake her off like she's dust on his shirt, but before he can actually reach for the door her fingers wrap around his elbow, "Damon_, please_," and he remains still, because those are two words he never heard in the same sentence, not from her anyway.

He concentrates so hard on the rhythm of her breathing, on the hold of her hand, trying to figure out what it is that made her break the unspoken rule between them to never, ever ask out of each other something that is not hidden under some twisted vision of the greater good, that he can feel the very own patterns of her fingerprints pressed against his skin and the substance of her breath in the air around him.

He turns his head but doesn't look over his shoulder, doesn't meet her eyes as he gives in to her, cutting voice and stark words, "Do it your way, but do it," before leaving the room for good.

The sound of the door closing is loud, hard. He thinks he just tried to cut a bond with that slamming, which is ridiculous because they are barely on speaking terms.

#

If he had gone to look for Elena he would have spilled the news immediately one way or the other, because he was fucking mad.

She had quite the nerve to be in that state and deny it right to his face, like he's that stupid to turn blind in front of her bruises.

Bonnie was never less than a pain in the ass, always judgmental and way too generous for her own sake, but she was never a liar. She could cut him out, send him to hell, fry his brain, burn his ass, but she never lied to him, not even once, and even when she was waiting for an excuse to free the world of his dirty presence he still knew he could trust her to tell him the truth.

He was never shaken by her insults, by her lapidary judgment, because she was honest, if brutal. But having her lie to him, made his viscera burn with anger. With something that, when he still remembered what it was to truly hope, he would have called disappointment.

Damon snaps out of his thoughts and tries to focus on the book he's reading. He's still on the same page he was one hour ago and he crosses his legs at the ankles as he keeps his left arm bent under his head, to pillow it.

He tries to push out the sound of Jeremy entering through the front door to concentrate on the book. He must turn it in his hand to remember what he's actually reading. "Tolstoy," he mutters, less than enthusiastic.

"You didn't take off your shoes," he turns his eyes to Jeremy before looking down to his feet, after flattening the open book against his chest.

"So?" he asks, irritated at the fact that his clean-freak-self suddenly took a vacation without him noticing, and that Jeremy has caught on to it, "I'm the one cleaning the damn thing."

Jeremy just shrugs and tries walking away with a "Whatever"

"How are things?" Damon asks, pulling himself into a sitting position, resisting the urge to look over the spot where his shoes touched the leather of the sofa to check for traces of dust.

"As usual," the other just says.

Damon nods, trying to find something else to say to prolong the boring conversation. He's not mastered yet the art of looking like he gives a damn about the things the kid has to say.

"Have you been visiting your sister lately?"

"So this is about Elena?" Jeremy asks like he's just caught him with his hands in the biscuits jar. Damon grins.

"Isn't it always?"

"She's fine, holding up. I think she misses you."

The idea gives him a regurgitation of tension, he wants to have her regardless of how he will feel later, regardless of the only short satisfaction the will follow, of the guilty pooling at the bottom of his stomach and the lies he will tell to convince himself that, in time, he can understand the person she is now and he will deserve the girl she was before.

The sudden compulsion is only toned down by the question pushing against the wall of his skull.

"And what about her roommates?"

Jeremy is surprised by his sudden interest for anyone else outside of his sister but, to his relief, decides to amuse him.

"Well, Caroline is enthusiastic-"

Of course he would start with vampire Barbie, he thinks, reminding himself to not roll his eyes, but letting the sound of the words dissolve in the air. What makes baby-Gilbert suspect he gives a shit about the blonde?

"And Bonnie…"

The name sparks Damon's attention, and he tries to push him to continue, "Judgie what?"

"She's working hard, I guess," he says, reluctant.

"You _guess_?" he asks grimacing, "Isn't she your girlfriend? Don't you see her naked on regular basis?"

"What's this talking about Bonnie naked?" the boy eyes him with puzzlement, but there's not an ounce of suspect on his face.

"I'm just saying, your knowledge of her wellbeing should be more accurate then _I guess." _he says, trying to sound cool "Weren't you together last night?"

He remembers the heavy trail of after shave he left in the hallway and wondering if he had ever saw at least one hair daring to grow on baby-Gilbert's face. He doubts he was trying to impress Donovan.

"Yeah, but we fought," he admits, his expression growing dark as he holds the strap of his schoolbag with both hands.

"You did?" Damon presses. If he's stupid enough to admit it there will be no going back, no matter how badly he wants to get in his sister pants. Furthermore, she will probably find a way to let this murder pass like a momentary slip.

"It was bad," he says, let himself sit down on the armchair with a plop, "I-"

Damon bends forward, his forearms pressed against his thighs as he waits for the words to come out of the boy's mouth. It's not that he's so eager to defend her or something, it's just that he had to make a deal with devil - and not in the metaphorical sense – to bring her back from the dead so he won't let anyone waste his work.

"I accused her of cheating on me and I left," he says, looking down at his sneakers.

"She should," Damon sighs, pushing himself back to sprawl out on the sofa.

Jeremy can only glare at him, it's not like he was in condition to throw any stones at her. And even Damon, who had done some pretty shitty things to the people he loved, never cheated on anyone.

"Why would you think something so idiotic?" the vampire asks, clueless.

"She's strange lately, distant. She won't let me-" he doesn't finish the sentence, too embarrassed by the immaturity that drove him to fight with her. "I suppose I'm not happy about sharing her attention with her new responsibilities."

"Oh, aren't you the understanding boyfriend," Damon says sarcastically. He's a boy, a teen ager, and he's too preoccupied with his sex-drive to take any notice of the fact that his girlfriend is, literally, too broken to take any other risk with her fragile body.

That's her fault for having such bad taste in men.

#

She's the last to leave the class so that no one will push her trying to get away. Bonnie looks over at the notes she took, happy with herself since this time she can make sense of them, before putting them back in her bag.

"Miss Bennett?" the voice is too warm and gentle to belong to any dead visitor, and when she raises her head she meets the gentlest brown eyes.

"I didn't scare you, did I?" he asks, walking towards her.

He's about 6'3, his thick blonde hair is short and spiky, there's a veil of blonde facial hair on his cheeks like he forgot to shave.

"Not at all," she says pushing back an invisible stray of hair. For just one short moment she's surprised by how handsome he looks.

"This morning you left before I had a chance to speak with you," he says, tentatively, like he's trying not to upset her, "I'm Dr. Noah Rowe."

"Oh, well, yes," she says, "But I'm fine. Really."

"I visited you while you were unconscious, and I don't think you're fine," he explains, his voice gentle but firm. She couldn't fool Damon, who had an idea about the craziness of her life, so there's no chance she can fool a doctor.

"I heard about your theory already but I can assure you, no one did this to me," she says, as firmly as him.

"You mean you did it to yourself?"

"No, of course not," she protests, slightly insulted at his insinuation. "I know what it looks like from the outside, but it's nothing like that. Trust me, I will not let a few bruises get the best of me."

Noah had worked for Whitmore College for three years now, and has already encountered many girls battling with so much, from eating disorders to parental abuse to drug addiction to self-mutilation. He was there to offer the help they didn't think they needed or didn't think they deserved, putting them in touch with specialists and, sometimes, police. No one was happy about it at first, but still behind those hard stares he could see their fragility, their need. With this one girl it seemed quite the opposite. She might be wounded on the outside, but on the inside she's clean and untouched.

There's something resolute about her, it feels like under her appearance there's a rush of wind trying to sweep away old leaves to make space for a new beauty that's about to bloom the world into spring.

"Your friend said pretty much the same thing," he says, trying to shake himself back into the conversation.

"My friend?" she asks, confused.

"Tall, black hair, looking like he would rip my head off if I didn't tell him exactly what was going on with you," he lists, "Ring any bells?"

"Damon," she deduces, pressing her lips together to offer an apologetic smile, "And you didn't even see him at his most charming," she adds, trying to humor him.

"Well, he seems like he cares. Maybe, whatever it is that's happening to you right now, he can help."

"He's not easy to read," she just says. It's what Elena seems to think, sometimes, while she was dead, she wondered that, too, even ventured herself into believing that he missed her once, but truth is he brought her back for Elena's sanity, and she is grateful. Their relationship right now sums up to this.

He doesn't seem satisfied with her answer, and he probably doesn't trust her to keep herself in one piece. Not trusting her seems like the trend of the week.

"What do you say about a coffee?"

She's not sure what he's offering, "Actually, I have to study..."

"I'm not talking about now," he says, "But I would like to check on you. I can make an official request to have you coming every day to the health center to be examined or you can casually pass by in the cafeteria while I'm having my coffee break and entertain me for a minute or two," he explains.

Bonnie is not sure he can actually do that, but she's not eager to draw any more attention to herself and so the easier way to go is to give in. Still, she needs to keep her face.

"You should know, I don't like to be blackmailed," she informs him.

"I will buy your coffee," he offers, trying to make his idea sound less invasive of her private time than it actually is, "And you can tell me everything you don't like so I won't do it."

Bonnie crosses her arms under her breasts and sighs, rolling her eyes. "Fine."

"I have a coffee break every day at eleven a.m. and four p.m." he says, walking away.

"Doctor Rowe!" she calls after when he disappears outside the door, watching him walk back a few seconds later.

"I'll have a caramel macchiato," she says, her chin high, her expression in between demanding and playful.

"And a conversation with me about what should be called coffee and what shouldn't," he informs her with half a smile before disappearing behind the corner.

But she can still hear him when he calls, "See you tomorrow, Miss Bennett."

#

Note: Dr. Noah Rowe is played by Justin Hartley.


	3. Chapter 3

She's forcing herself to keep her eyes focused on her professor, her body is relaxing against her own will as she tries hard to concentrate on a voice that seem to want to lull her into oblivion. Bonnie rests her cheek against the back of her hand, as she keeps her elbow shored up on the desk. It's a matter of seconds before she's dozing off. The sea animals on the wall move in her sight, the sound of an old rocking chair is unnaturally sinister. Looking down there are bloody fingers which the vampire cleans sucking one them one by one to prolong the sweet sensation of the innocent blood on his palate. He sighs in contentment and she can feel the echo how dear such a horrid memory is to him.

Bonnie is startled into a clear mind, breathless and cold, while her professor tells his students the subject of the next lesson as they take their things to leave. Bonnie looks about herself to make sure no one is staring at her, then down at her fingers. Her mind cruelly leads her to believe she can smell blood on herself and she stops breathing in defense, but when someone bumps against her accidentally her lungs open up and she can only smell the aftershave of the boy that apologizes with a mere _sorry _and leaves.

Bonnie brings her hand to her forehead, pushes a strand of hair behind her ear and takes a breath to fill her chest and stomach and prepare herself for the next blow, the way boxers do. It seems like lately she's doing nothing else but that. Now, if only she could have a break.

She thinks of Damon. She really doesn't want to, but she thinks of Damon. Of his chest, though she crushed against it like a car against a concrete wall; of his elbow inside her grasp, though her little fingers could only hold on the way a child would.

"I'm being ridiculous," she murmurs to herself as she leaves the empty class. But it is hard to keep at bay her inquietude, the anxiety to find a confirmation of Damon's ability to get her rid of those unwanted presences, the need to make sure he's actually not the only one who can do that.

She hugs her books to her chest as she walks away, and is so absorbed by her thoughts that she can't hear Caroline calling her name, "Earth calls Bonnie."

Bonnie blinks and stares at her, moving her eyes from Caroline to Elena and back.

"It seems like you have something on your mind," her friend says, "Or someone," she adds with a wink and a playful tone.

"Oh, if you only knew," she says, making sure to not sound serious. She can't die, but Caroline would still probably have a stroke.

"We all know," Elena corrects her, with a dramatic sigh, as they start walking together – Bonnie in the middle of the two young vampires, "You think you can keep a secret from us?" she asks.

Bonnie does her best to smile genuinely, but Elena's friendly attitude and her ignorance of what's going on in her life makes Bonnie feels so much more alone than she's ever felt.

"We're here to feed you so you'll have the necessary energy to fulfill your academic dreams, and Jeremy's wet dreams too-"

"Caroline!"

Jeremy has not called her back yet, but speaking of her own relationship in such light and joyful way gives her the illusion that not everything is lost yet.

"What? Your little brother grew up quite well, and quite _not so little."_

"And what would you know about that?" Bonnie asks mimicking a suspicious expression.

"I know everything," she answers, "Beware, you mortals," she jokes, linking her arm with Bonnie's, as Elena does the same on the other side of her.

"But you can give us details over lunch."

"Or not," Elena corrects her "He's still my little brother, and I really wanna stay in the dark about this."

"Okay, okay," Caroline admits defeat, "Then you can write me a five page essay with illustrations."

"Are you into porn now?" Bonnie asks, dumbstruck.

"I'm not," she protests, "Unless it involves Jonathan Rhys Meyers. Or me. Or both." She corrects herself.

The ring of Bonnie's cell phone interrupts her digression and she bends over her friend to peek at the screen. "Talk about the devil…" she says winking at the girl, before reaching out for Elena to drag her away "We'll leave you your privacy."

Bonnie smiles at her before looking down at her phone. What is she going to say to him? Well, she better figure it out fast. She walks to a bench and sits down, leaving her books by her.

"There's really no resemblance with the devil, at all. The other one, on the other hand…"

Bonnie turns her head to see the old woman with the white pupils sitting next to her, composed and contemplative. A shiver runs through her and she grips her phone in her hand by reflex.

"I'm sorry," she says, turning to her with an apologetic expression, "I suppose I can get in the way of your social reputation if I expect you to chat with me in public." She waves her hand in the air to motion for her to continue. "But please, go ahead and answer your call, dear. I will not get any older."

Bonnie looks away and puts her phone to her ear. "Hi." She puts all her effort in steadying her voice. She's sitting next to a ghost in a college full of people eager to find the new freak to point at and she's alone, even more so because there's silence on the other side, when she's desperate to have someone to hold on to in this mess she's sinking in.

"Do you still love me?" he asks, and she doesn't know why she feels the tears rising up through her throat.

It takes all the strength she got to not cry right there. She needs, so much, someone that will calm her mind and steady her heart, but all Jeremy offers are questions and doubts and claims of intimacy when she cannot bear to be touched again, cannot think of her body being used again.

"Jeremy..." her voice is breathy and she lowers her head to hide the sudden, unbearable crumbling of her façade.

"I'm sorry about what I said. I think I'm worried about losing you."

"You're not losing me," she tells him, her voice low and lifeless. "There's no one else. No one". No one that sees past her pretences, past her fake smiles, past her controlled attitude. No one that bothers to look hard enough to see the scars and the bruises she's covered in.

Jeremy is not losing her, she thinks; it's more likely that she's losing herself.

Still, it is a wonder that he doesn't detect the change in her voice.

"I know college is a big change and you're trying to do your best. I'm proud of you and I want you to know that it's okay. I don't want to pressure you. I love you."

"I love you, too," she says back, before hanging up.

"He's a sweet boy," she hears her ghost companion say with a sigh, "if a little clueless."

"Yes," Bonnie says, looking down at her hands resting on her lap.

"I think you need a little rest, my sweet, why don't you go to your room and take a nap? You will feel a lot better once you wake up."

Bonnie blinks, perplexed by her maternal mannerism, and looks at her with a questioning gaze but she finds nothing. She stands from the bench, looking around herself, but the ghost is nowhere to be seen.

#

The day starts off in the most common way considering where he decided to exercise his profession: a pregnancy scare.

The smell of disinfectant is faint, thanks to the open window. There's a pleasant strip of sun that cuts part of the room and he really would like to go out and lay down on the grass, under the sun, like he used to do when he was a student, but he can't.

"I just had sex with him once!" she protests, in the middle of her whining, as he leans against his desk and lends her the box of paper tissues, letting her take as many as she feels she needs.

"Well," Dr. Noah Rowe interrupts himself, waiting for her to stop blowing her nose before talking again "Once is, in fact, the minimum required."

"But I hate him!" she protests again, looking at him with big, reddened eyes.

"I realize it's not a strictly related question on my part, but…" he asks, confused, "why did you have sex with him if you hate him?"

"I…we were there alone, and…it seemed like a good idea," she answers.

"Right. I see, of course," he says, trying his best to not sound condescending. Sad to say, it is not even the most stupid answer he ever got to that question, and it's only his second year at Whitmore College.

"Well, you should calm yourself. I know that you're scared but if you're pregnant is not really the end of the world-"

"My parents are going to kill me!"

"They're not, Ronda," he tries to appease her, "Maybe they will have a hard time accepting it in the beginning, but they'll be happy about it eventually. Furthermore, you still have to run the blood test to be sure."

"But those home tests are 99% accurate, my friend Becky assured me of it. She has used them so often!" She's all righteous indignation for the false hope she believes he's trying to impose on her.

"I would never question your friend Becky's vast knowledge on the subject, but there are still possibilities-"

"What kind of possibilities?" she asks, frustrated and hopeful.

"Uhm, usually a false positive can be caused by molar pregnancy, evaporation lines, certain kind of tumors…"

"A tumor?" she asks, her voice reaching a disturbing high pitch. "So my choice is between dying by my dad's hands or by tumor?"

"That's not what I'm saying. I'm sure you're fine-"

"Nothing is fine, I'm about to become the size of a whale! I hate my life already! Last night I ate so much, and this morning I woke up because I had to vomit. I can't go on like this for months," she says, starting crying again, and taking another tissue from the box.

"I knew it, I knew it," she repeats between sobs, "I knew it would be positive, that's why I couldn't even look at that plastic stick for so long."

"So long? How long have you waited exactly?" he asks gently, massaging his right temple with the pressure of his thumb.

"I don't know," she says, looking at him with disappointment. Her life and waist size are forever ruined and he asks such stupid questions. He might be gorgeous, but he's totally insensitive.

"Please, just think about it. How long did you wait before looking at the result?"

"Probably around twenty minutes…" she says, stopping her crying to think about it, like she can't really handle doing two things at the same time.

"Then there's the serious possibility that you are not going to give any grandchildren to your parents, at least not now."

"What are you saying?" he tone is not grateful nor relived, but stress can do that.

"I'm saying that the test must be read in the recommended time. Which never go past five minutes, and any result shown later must be discarded. I really advise you to take a blood test before you start thinking of baby names."

The doubt seems to insinuate inside her brain.

"But-but I ate so much…"

"Do you not, usually?"

"And I vomited this morning."

"It happened to me too sometimes, and I never got pregnant," he says.

She's the embodiment of dismay, and she starts touching her face like she's suddenly worried about her melted make up. Still, a part of her is arguing about the truthfulness of her situation.

"But, look," she says, pulling a used pregnancy test from her bag to put it right under his eyes, "The lines…"

It's obvious she's hopeful now that she is in fact going to keep her size and her freedom. Noah takes the plastic stick and looks at the lines, and then he turns it around.

"Where did you buy this test?"

"My friend Becky gave it to me."

"I see she's provident," he comments faking a smile of approval. "Experience teaches, I'm sure, but it seems like it didn't teach her to check the expiration date," he says turning the test to show her the printed date on the back of it.

"How late are you exactly?" he asks, patiently.

"Two days…" she answers with a low voice.

"So maybe it's-" he cannot finish his sentence because she screams out of joy and wrap her arms around him, quite violently.

"Yes, yes, congratulations," he says taking her arms to pull them off him. "Now, if I can give you some advice, you should probably think about using the pill," he suggests, pushing her gently to sit down again.

Ronda, in all her newly acquired wisdom looks at him grimacing, "But I'll get _fat._"

#

"Oh, dear, the world is such a nice place," Bonnie spins around and presses a hand flat against her chest.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, but it feels kind of lonely to see all those new things by myself," the ghosts says wandering about the room, to stop and stare at Caroline's golden bottle of _eau de toilette_, "It must smell divine."

"For the price it costs, it must," Bonnie comments with a grin, realizing she's suddenly started to befriend _ghosts_. Fantastic. Yes, Bonnie, way to go.

The old woman, all creases and molasses smiles, turns to her after slowly straightening her back. She moves like she feels her age pressing on her muscles and bones and Bonnie is tempted to ask her if she really does, or if it's just habit or the remembrance of her body to make her move like that, but she doesn't.

"I suppose," she says instead, "That you're here to go on to the other side."

Bonnie braces herself, holding with her hands to the piece of furniture behind her. There's no need to make a fuss, especially because the old woman, for how creepy she might actually look, doesn't seem to want to hurt her.

"I'm in no hurry," she says, dismissing the idea with a wave of her hand. "I haven't seen the world since I was fifteen years old, my dear, and I really would like to give a good look at it before I leave it forever. It's not such an unreasonable demand, is it now?"

"I suppose not," she replies, without worrying about hiding the surprise and the doubt in her voice. The woman doesn't seem to mind, though, and goes on about telling her of her plan.

"I hope you don't mind if I follow you around for a bit, take it as the wish of an eccentric woman that is old enough to be your grandmother… Oh, if I had such a pretty granddaughter!" she says, straying for a moment, "When I was young I could only dream of deciding about my life the way you do. I'm so excited to see how it works now. Mind you, you girls should really cover your graces with some care, for it is not proper to concede so much to the sight of young men."

"How old are you?" Bonnie asks, humored by her scandalized tone, "If I may ask."

"You may," the other says, "I expect a man to keep to himself such an improper kind of question, but you dear, oh no. I was born during the last year of the first world's war. I could say I saw a great deal of the world, sadly I didn't actually _see_ much, but this story I will tell you another time, because I fear I will make you late for your class."

Bonnie looks down at her watch and then up at her, "Right, I have to-" but once again, she's nowhere in sight.

#

"I need a car," Jeremy says, as Damon is using a moist cloth to clean up the side of the leather sofa where he had put his feet.

"And I should care, why?" he asks, not bothering to interrupt his task. Maybe he should use a cleansing cream.

"I wanna go to Whitmore College," the boy adds shortly.

"Then, study." He should still have a beeswax product somewhere. That should make it shine. If only he could find it.

"Funny," Jeremy says with a sigh, "Can I borrow your car?"

"One day you will be old enough, or I will be dead, and you will still _not _touch my car," he clarifies, turning around and offering him a derisive grin.

"I really need to see Bonnie."

"Something wrong?" he asks, almost hopeful he'll say yes. That would mean someone other than him noticed that something is off with the witch, but he's not so lucky.

"No, I just want to see her. Make sure everything's okay between us."

It's a start. Maybe when he sees her he will actually pay attention to her and will grasp something.

"Forget it; I'll give you a ride."

Maybe he can drop by a store and buy something to clean up the sofa.

#

He's sitting at a table when she arrives. A cup of caramel macchiato is already placed where she's supposed to sit. She does so, silently, and takes off the lid of the cup to smell the sweet fragrance of it, before closing it again to drink from the split.

"Tell me it's not your favorite," he says, while sipping on his coffee.

"Ginseng coffee is my favorite, actually."

"That's a better choice," Noah says, nodding, "It is typically made by infusing coffee beans with _panax quinquefolius_ extract. Some people claim that ginseng products work as aphrodisiacs, though no studies have proven this, but it seems it provides regulation of blood pressure and mental stimulation."

He realizes only when his little speech is over the perplexed way Bonnie is looking at him.

"I got carried away, didn't I?" he asks.

"You were the first of your class," It is not really a question and he nods shortly and embarrassed.

"With no social life," he adds, knowing she will do the math very fast.

"I can't believe it," she says, hardly containing her distrust about his statement.

"I swear," he says, raising one hand, like he's ready to testify in court about the truthfulness of his statement "I was the most clumsy, shy boy you'll ever imagine."

"And then? What changed?"

"The way it always does, I grew up, I traveled a bit."

"Did you see much of the world?" she asks, sipping on her coffee. She was scared the coffee date would turn into a scary examination with more lies to pile up one on the other, but he's nice and she feels herself relaxing.

"I've lived in Italy for four years," he tells her.

"I suppose that explains your interest in coffee."

"Coffee is not an interest," he replies, almost looking offended. "It's a way of life, a religion," he adds dramatically, smiling soon after, "My mom went back living there after the divorce, and I've stayed with her on and off for four years. What about your parents?"

The smile on Bonnie's face does not falter, but her eyes become empty for a moment and he realizes he touched the wrong subject. Or maybe the right one.

"My mom left us when I was five, and my dad died a few months ago."

"I'm sorry," he says, feeling deeply the uselessness of his words, "That must be really hard for you. How did it happen?"

She avoids his blue eyes but cannot avoid recalling the moment when Silas slit her dad's throat.

"Someone with a God-complex decided to kill him," she explains briefly, hoping he'll just stop making questions.

"That's terrible," he says, finding a great beauty in the quiet attitude of the girl sitting in front of him. She's sensible and strong enough to have survived such pain with grace, but he's still wondering if there's anyone that's taking advantage of her state to keep her trapped into an abusive relationship. "There's anyone you can count on?"

"Of course. I have my friends, my boyfriend. They are like family to me," she says with a soft smile. There's no fear in her eyes while talking about them, then again, it doesn't mean a thing.

"I see."

#

Caroline's smile becomes a frown as soon as she sees his face, and Damon grins at that. He just made her day, mission accomplished.

"Hi Caroline, how are you?" Jeremy asks with the same savoir-faire any well mannered five years old.

"Fabulous," she says with a high pitch before looking at Damon, "Until thirty seconds ago."

Jeremy tries to speak again but she just raises her hand shutting him down, while still keeping her eyes on Damon.

"Cafeteria and library."

"What?"

"Where you'll find your girlfriends. Or _ex-_girlfriends," she adds with a smile of hardly concealed satisfaction. Damon doesn't even care to wait for the pleasantries to be over before he walks away and Jeremy is forced to rush after him, after saying goodbye to Caroline.

"I suppose you'll go find my sister," he says, without receiving any answer.

"Caroline didn't point out who's the one at the cafeteria and who's the one in the library. I should go and ask-"

"Did she need to? Bon-Bon is all duty and sacrifice, she would never _dare_ to spare a second for her physiological needs," he says with an ironic tone, mocking her righteous attitude.

Jeremy has no reaction to that, but to agree, "Yeah, sometimes she should go easier on herself."

Damon raises one eyebrow sparing him a look. Well, what warm, passionate concern he shows for his girlfriend, he thinks.

"Well? Aren't you going?" he asks him "The library is in that building. Fourth floor."

Part of him is eager to go and find Elena, but he forces himself to stay still, in the sunlight, for another minute as he watches Jeremy walking away.

Damon wants her, that much is undeniable, but sometimes he stays still and can hear the voice of his reason – which he likes to leave unemployed and bored – point out the almost toxic emission of a relationship driven by lust and lies. It's like driving blindly, because he must close one eye when her world falters because of Stefan, and she must close them both whenever one of his sins gets uncovered, and this is why both of them are absolutely incapable of telling which way their relationship is going.

And even when it's Elena's mouth he's kissing, and even when it's Elena's body he's holding, the way she likes to deceive herself while failing to deceive all others on his account make him want to scream. He always considered expectations to be too heavy to bear, but her complete lack of them when it comes to him is strangely unsettling.

When they are together and everything is the way he had always wished, and she overlooks whatever mistake he makes, it doesn't make him feel loved, it doesn't make him feel like a better person. It only makes him feel like _shit_.

But he's weak, he knows, too weak to resist her.

#

She's walking down the stairs when she feels the shiver running through her. Her head snaps up, she turns around, then look up to see him looking down at her like she's an insect to crush.

"He's angry," the voice of the old woman with the white pupils does not make her heartbeat accelerate. It can't really go faster than that.

_Where I Go_  
_Where I Go_  
_There'll be fire that goes blazing on the snow_

"What-"

"If he passes now, he'll take it out on you. Run!"

She should not be listening to the advice of a supernatural stranger but she can't help herself. Her skin is cold when she rushes down. She hears her saying she'll slow him down. In what way, she has no idea, but she can't really think of that now. She only wants to run and hide. It's useless, she knows, because there's no place to hide, no way to escape her fate. She's the only anchor, she's the only passage. She's alone, but her instincts push her to do anything to survive, even try to stupidly run away from a supernatural being that can appear wherever he wants, any time he wants.

_Where I Go_  
_Where I Go_  
_There'll be fire that goes blazing on the snow_

She runs down the stairs, avoids the impact of a professor walking towards her only to bump shoulder against shoulder against a boy with acetate ray-ban eyeglasses.

"Sorry," she says, turning around to look at him in the face while she walks backwards. A light, cold wind pushes her hair back from her face and she feels fear rising up into her throat like bile. Bonnie turns again only to run in the direction she instinctively took. The chill in her flesh, in the marrow of her bones pushes her towards the sun-drenched part of the inner courtyard.

_And I know, where I go, isn't somewhere that you can easily see_

___And I know, where I go, isn't somewhere that you'll ever be_  
_You'll ever be, you'll ever be..._

"Look where you're going!" a girl yells after her after she almost made the clothes hamper fall from her hands, but she doesn't stop to apologize or think of anything else but _warm_. Warm, to exorcize the cold that ghost has put inside her, the chill she feels whenever she has the time and the lucidity to realize how utterly _alone_ she is.

And then she sees him, ten feet from her, with his pensive profile, lips almost pouting. He only frowns when he turns, his face first and then his body, to see her.

He clearly wants to ask her what's wrong, what's happening, why she feels like running the sprint, but she wants to be safe. And she wants it so much, so badly that she can never want anything else.

_Tell me that story, of your life before me_

And that's what she does. She hides, with her cheek against his hard chest, her eyelids shut tight and her arms around him, like a scared child. Is she anything else but that right now?

Despite his vampire reflexes and his policy to not get involved in anything that doesn't directly affect Elena, he can only stare at the scene unfolding. He looks down, watching the energy that fuels her to reach to him with a morbid fascination-the intentional pressing of her petite body against his own, the tension of her features leaving her face when she finds herself pressed against his chest, and the ludicrous, completely human, beautifully desperate strength she uses when her arms wrap around him.

_When the sky starts turning and it goes back_  
_The sun turns back and the ground cracks_  
_At vanishing point on the broken glass floor_  
_Through the mirror in your mind and the lock on the door_  
_Goes nowhere, you can't go there, or know there, nothing grows there_  
_'Cept your shadow grows smaller and in the blink of an eye_  
_I can't see you anymore_

He's immobile. His arms have lifted on their own for her to encircle him. It stuns him into silence, the situation he's suddenly in. Her.

#

**Note:** The song I used in the last scene is "Where I go" by Nick Gardner.


End file.
